


To Beard the Lion

by songsmith



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Hogwarts, M/M, NFE 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsmith/pseuds/songsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caspian has a bit of a crush. Trouble is, he’s got his eye on the most popular boy in school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Beard the Lion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [m3535](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=m3535).



Sixth year, Caspian Telmar thought happily, was about as good as it got. Classes entirely of your choosing, no big tests looming over the year, and plenty of time to enjoy the castle. Including some of its more secluded spots, which were far more interesting when you were a sixth-year than they’d been as a firstie exploring Hogwarts for the first time. In fact, there was really only one thing missing to make Caspian’s year perfect.

Peter Pevensie. Gryffindor, seventh year, Head Boy, Quidditch captain, star Chaser. Undisputed king of the school.

His sister was in Caspian’s year. She was beautiful, and a shoo-in for Head Girl next year, but otherwise not very like her brother. Caspian sat in class (History of Magic: no one would notice if he wasn’t paying attention) studying her profile for signs of their common blood. Perhaps something around the eyes? They were the same color… or were hers more grey? Were their lips the same shape? Peter’s were full, for a boy, full and… kissable…

Hunter elbowed him hard enough to rock his chair. “You’re drooling, Telmar,” he muttered. 

Caspian returned the elbow with interest, confident in Binns’s obliviousness.

Hunter nudged a piece of parchment toward him. The top was filled with noughts-and-crosses games and (very bad) doodles of Quidditch, along with a few half-hearted attempts to take notes. (Hunter actually _liked_ history, despite Binns.) But under his pointing finger, a single line of new inked text: _don’t u think Pvnse is out of ur league?_

Of course he is, Caspian thought wistfully, then realized what Hunter was asking. A flush burned his cheeks; of course people would assume, if he stared at the girl like a ninny!

This being History, the only quills he had with him were sugar. He nabbed Hunter’s, leaving a blot of ink on the desk, and scratched out: _not intrestd in SP._

Stealing his quill back, Hunter wrote: _keep telling urself that._

He probably didn’t even like boys, Caspian told himself glumly, returning his attention to Binns just long enough to feel sleepy. Pevensie had every girl in school throwing themselves at him, after all. Even Slytherins. He had his pick of pretty girls…. Though with all that, he was still single. At least publicly. Rumor paired him with many a girl on the Astronomy Tower or in unused classrooms, but if rumor were a reliable guide, Caspian would know what Pole’s knickers looked like. Was it possible Pevensie might swing both ways?

***

A few days later, on the way to the Great Hall, Caspian found himself suddenly petrified and dragged to one side by the strange squishy-rope sensation of a summoning charm. His back fetched up against the wall, his elbow banged into a suit of armor, and then he had control of his limbs again. He pulled out his wand, looking around for the person who’d hexed him.

Black robe, red trim. Blue eyes, gold hair. Peter Pevensie blocked his way out of the alcove, arms folded and wand dangling with idle menace from his fingers. “I hear you’re interested in my sister.”

“I — no. I mean… that is—” Caspian stammered, thinking too hard about _not kissing_ that frowning mouth to really think about what he was saying. His senses reeled a little, overwhelmed with the fact that Pevensie, _Peter Pevensie_ was _right there_ , just inches from him in a tiny alcove hidden from view and…

Pevensie backed off a pace, smirking a little. “Susan decides for herself,” he said. “Just remember: if you hurt her, I’ll hex you so hard St. Mungo’s will use you for a case study.”

“R-right,” Caspian gasped, nodding hard. Pevensie whisked off, vanishing into the flow of hungry students headed for lunch, and Caspian sagged back against the wall with a sigh. Cold shower. He needed a cold shower.

***

After the first Quidditch match Hufflepuff played against Gryffindor, Caspian found excuses to linger behind his teammates, waiting until he saw the Gryffindor captain approaching. “Um, hey.” Real smooth, he chided himself.

“Hey.” Pevensie paused outside the Gryffindor changing room, his gloves swinging by the laces from one finger. “You need something?”

“I, uh, wanted to say… good game.”

“You too.” The seventh year gave him an odd look. “That all?”

“Yes. No.” Caspian swallowed hard. Damn, obviously this was why the hat hadn’t put _him_ in Gryffindor. Pevensie waited politely for him to continue, but when he just stood there tongue-tied, the older boy shrugged, turning away. “I’m not interested in your sister,” Caspian blurted, and promptly wished he could _Silencio_ himself.

Pevensie glanced back. “Oh?”

“I… well. She’s not my type.” He winced as Pevensie’s face darkened. “I mean — she’s pretty! Just… she’s a girl.”

Pevensie relaxed, and even grinned a little. “Seeking for the other team, are you?”

“That’s not a problem… is it?” Caspian asked nervously.

“Why should it be?”

“Well,” he said carefully, “some people think, because you can’t have children…”

“Oh, that pureblood rot.” Pevensie snorted. “We’re not a dying breed, whatever they say. And there’s always adoption. Blood adoption, if the family’s _that_ fussy.”

Caspian’s family spouted that ‘rot’ fairly frequently — not his parents, but their parents, and his aunt and uncle. Pevensie’s family was as pure-blooded as his, maybe more so, and it was a relief to find he didn’t think that way. “You’ve, ah, thought about it.”

He shrugged. “Kind of had to, didn’t I? Keeping up the family name and all that. Though Edmund might yet have plenty of little Pevensies to carry it on.”

Caspian blinked, finally registering what ought to have been obvious. “You—?”

“What, that’s _not_ all over the school?” He laughed. “I’ll be damned; Glenn kept his mouth shut after all.” He looked at Caspian, standing there breathless with hope, and slowly smiled. “You’re not interested in my sister.”

“No,” Caspian squeaked out.

“Wrong Pevensie.”

“Yes.”

And then Peter proved why he _was_ a Gryffindor and leaned in to kiss Caspian. 

Sixth year, Caspian thought happily, was absolutely as good as it got.

**Author's Note:**

> From the Narnia Fan Fiction Exchange 2012.
> 
> Original Prompt was:  
> What I want: Either of these three:  
> 1\. AU - as in Narnia doesn't exist. Peter/Caspian (or Edmund/Caspian if you prefer).  
> 2\. AU - in Narnia. No one is royal. Peter/Caspian (or Edmund/Caspian if you prefer).  
> 3\. Crossover with Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. Caspian. Doesn't have to be slash.  
> Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: -  
> What I definitely don't want in my fic: Incest. Unhappy ending. Religious undertones (that means not a lot of Aslan).


End file.
